Miss Burnley Meets the Singers
by Lady Meowzalot
Summary: An odd family has just moved next door, and Miss Clarice Burnley sets out to investigate...


((Please, don't use any of my characters (the Singer family, Clarice), or comment on them except in reviews. The Harry Potter world doesn't belong to me, I'm just using it!))

Clarice Burnley was slightly apprehensive about the new neighbors. They appeared to be all right, but strange noises were heard from their house last night. Clarice had lain awake on her gigantic bed, listening to the mournful cries emanating from the backyard. Or was it someone yodeling? She couldn't tell. 

She walked down the stairs of her house, getting the same chilly feeling as was usual with this staircase. This was the one that had the portrait of her grandmother painted as an Ice Queen. The middle-aged witch couldn't help but shudder as she passed the frosty glare of Anabel Woodsworth decked out in luxurious white splendor.

Clarice checked her appearance one last time in the gilded front-hallway mirror. Her graying brown hair was swept back in a tidy bun, mascara touched-up lashes framed her blue eyes, and her oval face, though slightly wrinkled, showed no trace of blemishes. "I'm almost as pretty as I once was," she mused, then briskly headed out the door.

Past the tidy flowerbeds of her own she walked, through the dainty iron-wrought gate, and up the pathway to the house on the hill. It was the biggest house in the area, but Clarice considered her own to be more richly furnished. The hill-house didn't even have a front gate, or spacious front grounds. The backyard was expansive, though, and there was a stable representing the wealth of the first owners. No one had bothered to take it down, most thought it was a worthier feat of architecture than the large house.

Clarice swept up the front lawn, trying not to admire the ivy creeping up the worn red bricks. The windows here aren't half as elegant as my own, she decided, flicking her eyes over the rough square openings that served as windows. Firmly deciding she'd show these new people their place, Clarice rang the doorbell. "Coming!" shouted a rather exasperated voice. She crossed her arms and waited.

The door swung open to reveal a woman slightly younger than her with barely tamed orange-blonde hair and a harried expression. "Do come in, the house isn't as organized as it could be," she said, smiling a bit. Clarice decided not to take notice of her American accent. A loud _THUMP_ and a _BANG_ issued from upstairs, and the woman winced. "There's Birch, messing around with Muggle chemicals again. Come in, come in!" Clarice hesitated, then marched inside.

The only adequate word to describe the house was chaos. Boxes overflowing with mounds of stuff blocked the way to most rooms, levitating toys were littered on the stairs, and there were animals everywhere! Napping on the shelves, in aquariums, on the sofa, eating on the tables, and skittering around the house. Clarice took a few shaky breaths and tried to dismiss her shock. Decorum was needed here in this mad house. The woman smiled, as if she wasn't disturbed about the state of her dwelling at all, and said, "My name's Lydia Singer, I'll introduce you to the children later. Now, let's step into the living room and we can talk there." 

Before she knew it, Clarice was being ushered towards a spacious room covered in knick-knacks and pictures of animals. Contemplating the cleanliness of the green floral-print sofas, she sat down. Lydia Singer sat across from her in an overstuffed chair of matching material. "I _am_ sorry for the mess here, we've been here just a few days, you see. Now, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Some politeness there, Clarice thought, begrudging approval. 

"I am Miss Clarice Burnley, your next door neighbor. How do you do?" she said stiffly. This room seemed like a parlor, though Lydia called it a living room. An American thing, she supposed. Or maybe it was a modern thing. Clarice's friends, what ones she had, were always telling her to come out of the Dark Ages.

"Fine, thank you." Lydia nodded, perfectly at ease.

"Ah, well, I wanted to address my concern about a strange noise coming from your yard last night"

"That was the Basenji you heard, makes a dreadful racket, sometimes," Lydia said, chuckling. "BIRCH," she yelled suddenly, "COLLECT YOUR BROTHER AND SISTERS! THEY NEED TO MEET OUR NEW NEIGHBOR!" Shouts and squeals came from upstairs, but finally Clarice could hear children coming down the stairs. Lydia grinned at her, and nodded.

"We was plaaaaaayin', Birchie!" whined a small, dark haired boy.

"I'm not happy, either, Elm, I was seeing what that Muggle science kit did," sighed a tall blonde girl, who looked a lot like Lydia. The last child kept silent, though it was plain to see the tiny girl wasn't happy about coming downstairs.

"Where's Willow?" asked Lydia, raising an eyebrow. Clarice suspected Willow was another child of this Singer woman's. 

Birch rolled her big blue eyes. "Geez, I don't know, she said there was a creek behind the house. You come to your own conclusion!" Lydia sighed, and gave an apologetic glance to Clarice.

"You might as well meet my present children, then. The oldest is Betulla, we call her Birch. Betulla means birch in Italian," she added, noting the slightly taken aback look on Clarice's face. "She's eleven."

"Going to Hogwarts then, I suppose," said Clarice, looking over the girl in question. She was pretty, or would be if she looked like she cared about her appearance. Her blonde hair was frizzing wildly on end, and there were dirt smudges all over her face.

Lydia nodded. "Yes, she's starting her first year this fall. That's why we moved here from Florida, you see, so our children could have the benefit of the best Wizarding school there is. Salice, or Willow, will be going next. She's eight, you see. Olmo, Elm, is four. Say hello to Miss Clarice, Elm!"

The skinny little boy mumbled, "'Llo." Clarice nodded in return. He wasn't good looking, but at least he looked properly taken care of.

"And, of course, here's Quercia. She can't even say her own name yet, she calls herself Oakie because we do," Lydia grinned. "She's our baby two year old." The older witch cracked a smile at the adorable little girl. Her dark hair was sleek and down to her chin, her blue eyes wide and endearing.

A skinny brown cat suddenly pounced on her lap, and Clarice gasped. The cat, seemingly knowing it wasn't wanted, stuck its tail in the air and slunk off. "Well, it's nice to meet you, I must be going now," said Clarice. This was the last straw. Animals climbing all over her was not her idea of the best time imaginable. She brushed off her blue robes and stood up, nodding brusquely at the family. "Goodbye." The woman swiftly walked to the front hallway of the Singer family.

And stopped short when she sighted a little girl.

"Willow, I presume?" Clarice asked stiffly, surveying her muddy boots and giant bucket.

"Oh, yeah!" The girl nodded. She had a long braid of coppery-blonde hair down her back, and her freckled face was streaked with mud. Big, round brown eyes stared up at Clarice intently.

"Well, then, I must be o--AGH!" A slimy, brown _something_ leaped out of the bucket and fastened itself on the arm of her robe. Willow hurriedly scooped the frog up in messy fingers and glared at it.

"Sorry 'bout that, I _told_ them to stay there, bu' they wouldn' listen to me," said Willow, narrowing her eyes and peering into the bucket.

"I'm sorry, told?" Clarice, in spite of herself, was rather curious.

"Yeah, it's weird, really, I tell aminals things an' they do what I say! An' sometimes I get an answer back!" With an extremely serious expression, Willow glanced at Clarice.

"Oh, do you? Well, how very nice," said Clarice. The little girl obviously had a large imagination. Lydia darted past her and sighed at Willow's extreme messiness.

"Oh, Wil, get into the bathtub right now!" she said, rolling her eyes. "Excuse her appearance, Wil's an Animadictus, but she doesn't know it. All she knows is that she can talk to animals and," she moaned, "she's always bringing them here. Only Willow knows exactly how many pets we have."

"Intriguing," said Clarice, itching to be out of there.

"Oh, yes, we've even found a use for those marvelous stables back there. Our Shetland Pony, according to Willow, says he really enjoys them!"

"Yes, well, best of luck to you all," said the older witch formally. "I hope you have pleasant times here in England." She meant it, she really did. She sincerely wished, though, that they leave her out of their aforementioned pleasant times. Willow, just now realizing she was supposed to bathe, started to head upstairs. She got up two steps safely, and then tripped over a floating duck. The girl skidded down and knocked into the large bucket of frogs. Clarice, knowing what was coming, hastily scampered out the door and shut it firmly behind her.

"Mad house," she panted, "it's a mad house in there!" Clarice wiped her brow and sighed in relief. There was a popping noise just then, and a man Apparated in front of her. He was dark haired and eyed, and looked an awful lot like the little boy.

"Hello, I suppose you're a new neighbor coming to say hi," he grinned. "Come on in, why don't you meet the family?"


End file.
